the year or the rat is upon us — my year! this evening’s reunion dinner got a little bit out of hand with a sashimi salmon first course and a magical cauldron that never boiled dry. a worthy procession of farmyard animal, fish, fowl and funghi — sliced fine — was dipped in bubbling chicken stock, and then a bright green sauce composed primarily of bright green chillis. i ate eight bowls, and then discovered, upon standing, that my centre of gravity was decidedly fluid.

the biggest discussion over the last couple of days has been about the distribution of angpow. my sister, recently married, has heard that she is exempt from issuing funds for the first year of marriage; that she should give angpow to all unmarried relatives; that she should only give to those who are younger than she is; that she should only give to the generation after ours. no-one knows what rules apply to someone who is not married, but has a kid, the father of whom has removed himself from the equation. “who asked you to live your modern lifestyle?” she asks, because she is helpful, my sister.

this time last year, i was clinging to the rim of a hotel toiletbowl, purging my insides of the poison burger from a roadside reststop. we are making that pilgrimage to malaysia again this year, and i am prepared. i have a bag of muji mini soyabean poundcakes, a couple of mandarins, and some slices of bakkwa. with any luck i need eat nothing else until we are tucked safely into my grandmother’s enormous rosewood table, with the lazy susan piled so high it can barely turn. no matter — what is directly before us will undoubtedly be delicious.